Chapter 49: 49 Art. 48. "Daytime Duel"

My thoughts were incredibly clear.

That man, and the man I once thought was so far away, was standing right in front of me.

The cold air filled my lungs, and a moment of silence covered the space.

--A whine.

The knife squeals as it tears through the air. That sound starts it off.

He sticks out his right leg, keeping his elbow free, and runs his knives left and right. I aim for the neck and wrist.

I had a plan for the first shot. I dreamed it over and over in my head. If I ever fought this man, Helt Stanley, I would always make the first move.

My chances of winning were slim. But if I gave up the initiative to my opponent, it would be like decapitating myself. You must measure your time and always take the initiative in the fight.

--"Ding!

Of course, I knew how difficult it would be to take on this man. The enemy is Held Stanley, Lord Hero.

Two strikes that were supposed to be aimed at him as a surprise attack were flipped by the white light.

Each strike was timed differently, but Heldt delivered one head-on and the other with a flick of his wrist. How dexterous can you be with that two-handed sword?

"...... You're not to be trifled with. Come and get me.

You can't touch me." Heldt ordered over his back to the guards, who were about to draw their sabers at my murderous act.

I'm not sure if it's chivalry or what, but it's my humble spirit that makes it sound like I can handle it all by myself.

My stomach was about to burst with impatience, but his voice was cold and unfeeling. He's so smug that he's not even sweating.

I forced the ragged breath that was threatening to escape down my throat and narrowed my eyes.

This duel-like fight is completely different from the tavern duel I had with Kalia before. That was more of a game. This is an unmistakable exchange of lives. Take his, Heldt's head, even if it costs you a little.

Herdt's stance is with his double-bladed sword across his chest. It's a stance designed to ward off your attacks. But the stance itself does not have any kind of killing intent or hostility. She's probably thinking of how to hold us down.

Oh, it's annoying. Too annoying. But the difference in strength between us is obvious. I'm sure that blow gave Heldt an idea of my strength. Insignificant.

It's a fair assessment. So there's only one way I can take advantage. In an instant, I'm breathing into my lungs.

--Squeak-- squeak-- squeak.

Using the dust at my feet as a blindfold, I deliver a cracking blow to the knee. Next, he spins his body halfway around and draws a silver half-circle to gouge his side. None of them reach the ground.

At the point where the silver light bounced off, there was always a white that repelled it. Each time a flash of silver split the sky, an ear-splitting sound echoed around.

With each strike, he changes his stance, upper, lower, middle. Angle, timing, speed. Angle, timing, speed...any and all means to make the knife cut through space.

No breathing. My lungs are raging for air, and my legs, which have carried me so many times, are beginning to give up the ghost. But I understand. This head is sore. If I let out a breath in time with this man, my torso will pop off in the process.

Heldt has no intent to kill. Nor is there hostility. But that golden gaze you sometimes feel. It's a vicious gaze that sometimes seems to be dreaming of how to cut off your life, your neck. His eyes glittered with a fierceness that did not match his gentle face at all.

My heart forcibly understands. If this man wanted to, his torso would split in two in an instant, his skull would cave in, his limbs would tear. Yes, in a single breath.

To gain a breath is to trade a life. I don't know his thoughts, I don't know his intentions. For now, he just deals with our barrage as if he has plenty of time to spare, and his expression is calm and sweatless.

--The only way to win is to make one move.

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There is still no move from the other side. Annoying, but gratifying. I'm being saved, but that doesn't give me a chance to win.

Kick deep into the earth and take a few steps back.

If he strikes a blow here, he'll probably die. But even though he knew this, Heldt did not even move his feet.

...... Let's both lay down our swords, Mr. Lugis. There is no point in doing this.

The words were spat out again. It's a little bit different than what you just said.

My body was sweating to release the heat, but it was too much for the burning heat to catch up with, and it covered my chest. His exhaled breath was a flame that almost burned his mouth.

He, Heldt, had said. You can't hurt yourself with your skill. There's no point in continuing, he told me.

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He said it. Yes, you could say that. But you're right. For one so young, there is not a trace of weakness in the gleam of his swordplay.

Caria's long sword still had a hint of sweetness. Fialat's magic had not yet been honed.

And yet his, Held Stanley's, swordplay was frightening.

He looked so young and yet so accomplished. The guards behind him are watching closely. I don't see any lizards among them, perhaps they have gone in search of Cereal. My heart beats faster and faster.

They say that a hero is chosen by fate, and a brave man is one who is favored by the gods. But in the case of this guy, I almost suspect that his very existence was created by the gods.

You're so smug. You are so smug. It's true that my swordsmanship would be hard.

He wipes the sweat from his forehead and rolls his tongue.

He wipes the sweat from his forehead and rolls his tongue, trying not to let his emotions get the better of him, to keep the rage in his heart and feed it. There was no need to add emotion to the string of words just yet.

I blink my eyelids slightly in the dust.

"Mr. Rougis. I don't dislike you ....... In fact, I'm even interested. I don't think you're just a thief. I don't think I want to cut you down here. Pull it. And I swear to God I won't hurt you.

My cheeks quiver. Her eyes hardened involuntarily and her skin tingled.

Why was Helt interested in me?

I had mixed feelings. I feared that the words meant that some evil had befallen me, that my fate had become entangled.

And yet, a slight elation that the person I once thought of as my nemesis, but couldn't even bite, was now interested in me.

How pathetic. How pathetic. I'm never going to reach him, Heldt. And yet I feel as if I'm getting close to him.

And I'm not. The game's not over yet.

What are you talking about? I haven't gotten a scratch on me yet. If you want me to lay down my arms, you'll have to do it with your sword, Held Stanley.

I'm sick of hearing my own words so cheaply.

But he'll still come. Even if he knows it's an invitation, he'll step through. That's the nature of this Herdt guy. That's the only thing I trust him for.

Herdt's knees moved for a moment, his golden hair swaying and his eyes sparkling.

--There was no sound.

Just a breath.

His eyes widened and shone, ready to devour his prey.

Dust danced in the air, clearing the way for him to get out of the way. The distance between us closed in so quickly that I thought the ground had shrunk for him.

A moment later, I was already in range of his white fangs.

Held at mid-height, Held arced his double-edged sword with the drive of his hips.

The sword struck me right in the left side of my ribs. There's no way I could have fended off that with a knife. To catch it would be madness. In a few moments, I'll see myself on the ground with several bones broken.

That's just a prediction, of course. There was no way my eyes could see that sword line. All I see is a blink of light and something white approaching.

Intense. It's beyond comprehension to witness it in person. It's nothing short of astonishing.

--But it's not unexpected.

It's known. And we knew the only way to win was here.

Before I could even see the move, I'd be extremely low, silver gleaming. One time. Only once.

The moment when the gold would have been imminent.

He raises the knife into the air, as if he were ducking from the lowest level of visibility. A blow to bite into his lower belly from the groin where there is no protection. The figure is invisible.

A blow based entirely on prediction, expectation, and the experience I've seen so far. A blow that, if poorly executed, would only mow the sky for no good reason. But this is the best I can do right now.

The white light, unseen, approaches to bite through your left belly. From my hand, a flash of silver aimed at the sky to cut through the entrails of my enemy.

What my ears heard at the end was the neigh of the wind.

And what I felt was a pain that tore through my body.

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